


desperate measures

by sharkie



Category: Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Post-Canon, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie/pseuds/sharkie
Summary: As far as interspecies diplomacy goes, this makes sense. Probably.
Relationships: The Red Prince/Sebille (Divinity: Original Sin)
Kudos: 17





	desperate measures

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fail_fandomanon prompt '100 words of spanking/fucking as a solution to nuanced diaspora problems'.

For this union, Sebille speaks the way traditional elves do: drifting between past, present, and hints of the future.  
  
“The Red Prince knocks on my door at midnight, mischief bright in his dark eyes,” she recites. “He leans in for a kiss. I pull back. I tell him he knows what he must do.”  
  
The audience shifts closer. Their wayward Prime Scion straddles the once-hated lizard prince, watching her people even as she presses herself against the Red Prince’s hard cock.  
  
“He bows. He asks me to taste him, to _know_ him. I wait. He kneels, and expects a kiss.” Sebille licks his wrist and closes her eyes, savouring both the memory and the saltiness of his skin. “I say, _Not yet._ I need something to give shape to this desperation, something to show those who would still trust me. He strips in silence. I sit at the edge of my bed - _soft, warm,_ a decadent nest unlike the simple majesty of the forest, yet familiar in its own way. The prince sprawls over my lap and turns his head to face me. So much is lost, but this is mine. Slickness gathers between my thighs.”  
  
There are no gods left to swear by, so the Red Prince hisses her name. Sebille smiles down, beatific.  
  
“Just like that. He looked - looks - just like that.” She slowly, slowly guides him inside her, moaning as an echo of the past and to voice fresh pleasure. “I can easily taste his memories, but there are other ways to read each other through flesh. He drops his head, moves his tail aside. The first time I strike him, he gasps. He wants to rut. I refuse. I strike him again. He stays still. He demonstrates that he obeys me - for me, and for my people's peace of mind.”  
  
She rides him gently at first, building in intensity with each moment of recollection. None of their audience acts aroused. It's better: they are openly rapt.  
  
“They say home is where the heart is. But the Mother Tree’s heart is sick long before I see it dying.” Sebille presses a long fingernail into the Red Prince's chest. “My heart is here. I am home. I will not be rooted. After I die, my offspring eat my heart, and I live on in their memories instead of the soil. I am interpreted instead of repeated. I am more than whole because I allow fragments of myself to be scattered among the people I love.” Her thrusts reach a speed which could hurt a more fragile being, and he groans, angles his hips upwards while the rest of him trembles with restraint. “I am not a ruler, yet the prince does not come until I command.” Her nail digs deeper, a startling counterpoint to her soft lips at his throat. “I command.”  
  
Then she kisses him. Time buckles like their bodies.  
  
Afterwards, the Red Prince leaves Sebille to address her new followers and locates Fane, tucked away in an inconspicuous corner. He takes a seat beside the Eternal with a satisfied, albeit mildly exasperated sigh.  
  
“A fascinating cross-cultural exchange,” Fane remarks. “I’d say it’s a success! Although I wouldn’t recommend implementing these tactics on a wider level.”  
  
“Humans simply wouldn’t understand,” the Red Prince agrees.


End file.
